


No Matter Where I Run (The Past is Always There)

by just_another_classic



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Daddy!Killian, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 09:06:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5579611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_another_classic/pseuds/just_another_classic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When his daughter begins to question the story of Milah's name tattooed on his wrist, Killian is faced with the fear that his little girl won't always look at him as her hero. Thankfully, Emma is there to provide moral support. (Future!fic)</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Matter Where I Run (The Past is Always There)

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally going to be a part of my still-needs-to-be-completed sequel to "A Fraction of Your Smile (A Fragment of Your Mind)" but I kept writing more and more, and before I knew it, I had cranked out almost 3000 words on this scene alone. 
> 
> While I fully accept that Killian will be able to move past his well, past, with Emma, I truly believe he will hit his own emotional roadblock with any future children, even if his fears are all in his head. This explores that.

“What’s a My-lah?”

 

His daughter had been previously stuttering over words in her book, sounding out vowels and tripping over consonants as she attempted to read to him and her mother. Now she looks at his arm studiously, blue eyes squinting as she attempts to make out the name branded on his skin. Not even five, and her teachers have noted that she is ahead of the curve when it comes to her literacy skills, a fact that he boasts to anyone who would listen. In this moment, however, he curses her abilities, not at all ready to open that can of worms on this Sunday night. Killian’s eyes rise to meet Emma’s, silently pleading for help.

 

Emma, his hero – his Savior – rises to the task, wrapping her arms around their little girl, attempting to return her attention back to her book. “Eliza, honey, why don’t you finish telling me about Frog and Toad? I really want to know if they stop eating those cookies.”

 

“But I wanna know what a My-lah is…” Eliza whines, large blue eyes darting between him and her mother, confusion etched on her features.

 

“Um.” Emma Swan – the woman who broke countless curses, fought numerous monsters, and literally marched into the Underworld – is somehow felled by persistent preschooler.

 

Killian sighs. It’s a conversation he knew he couldn’t avoid forever. Eliza is at the age where almost every other sentence out of her mouth is a question, her favorite words being “why,” “how,” and “what.” She’s an inquisitive little thing, that daughter of his. It’s another trait of hers that he normally admires, one that seems to do him in at this moment. They long ago addressed his tattoos, leading to an adorable moment where she sloppily colored her arms with markers to be “just like Daddy,” but that was before she could read. Now her questioning nature is driving daggers into his heart.

 

But just as he is with her mother, he cannot deny his daughter anything.

 

“It’s Milah, little love,” he corrects softly, his voice just above a whisper. He feels Emma reach around and squeeze his hand in support. “Milah is the name of a person I once knew.”

 

“Oh. Okay.” Eliza nods, eyes returning to the book sitting on her lap. For a moment, Killian believes that his daughter is satisfied with his answer. He is wrong. Much like her mother, she does not make things easy for him. “Do you have a tattoo of Mommy?”

 

“No, I’m afraid I do not.” He isn’t sure where this line of questioning is leading, and is afraid to find out.

 

“Why not?”

 

“Yeah, Dad, why not?” Emma asks, teasingly cuffing him on the shoulder, green eyes sparkling.

 

“Because your mother is branded on my heart, the very being on of my soul. Wherever I am, she will always be there with me. I don’t need a tattoo to remind me of that.” His words obviously fly over Eliza’s head, too deep for a five-year-old’s understanding of love and devotion. It’s alright. He hadn’t meant those words for her. Her mother’s eyes, however, soften at his declaration, and he feels a surge of pride. After all of these years, Killian Jones can still make Emma Swan melt. Still, he has a much smaller girl to appease, one who looks thoroughly unimpressed by his answer. “Honestly, I’m fairly certain your mother would declare such an act to be too cheesy.”

 

“She would,” Emma agrees with a cheeky grin. He had considered it once, years ago while they were separated because of Pan’s curse, and he thought he would never see her again. However, a niggling voice in the back of his mind told him that Emma would have hated the gesture. Hoping against all odds, her refrained on the off chance that he could see her again. Praise the gods he did.

 

“Milah doesn’t think it’s cheesy?” Eliza asks, wrinkling her nose in such a way that is so devastatingly Emma that Killian feels his heart could burst.

 

He could easily lie to his daughter. She’s young enough that he could say “yes” and she would accept it as such. For all he knows, “yes” could be the truth, but he knows the answer is infinitely more complicated than that. Milah had liked what other tattoos he had, such the one on his should with the naval crest that reminded him of Liam. Still…he isn’t sure what she thought about the mark on his arm. When he encountered her in the Underworld, she had been less than pleased at his centuries-long quest to avenge her life, telling him that she simply wanted him to be happy after she died. Her name on his wrist was a symbol of that quest.

 

“Can’t you ask her?”

 

“She’s not with us anymore, baby.” Emma explains softly, running her fingers through Eliza’s dark hair. Her other hand squeezes his more firmly, as if urging him to know that she’s there, that she has his back on this.

 

“Like Henry’s daddy? Did a bad guy hurt her too?”

 

Both Killian and Emma blink at this, slightly confused. The topic of Henry having a different father was something they breezed over months ago, and she hadn’t seemed too focused on how Baelfire had died, instead more concerned with understanding just how her brother had a different father. (She would later go one to explain to everyone that her Mommy once loved someone not her Daddy, and they had a baby that was Henry, but he wasn’t there anymore, and her Mommy loved her Daddy now, and they were true love.)

 

However, it seemed that the fact that Baelfire was killed as a result of Zelena’s machinations had stuck, hidden somewhere in the back of her mind. Killian suspects he knows why, his chest tightening at the stirrings of a memory that still haunts his family’s nightmares. Eliza is no stranger to the concept of “bad guys” and villains, has a scar just under her collarbone to prove it. She takes the whole thing in stride most of the time, that fearless little girl of his, but every now and then the terror that another person could come after her sends her into a fit of bad dreams and into his and Emma’s bed.

 

(He does cannot fault his daughter on this. His own nightmares own twist her then limp and bleeding body to mirror Liam and Milah, waking him in a cold sweat.)

 

“Aye, little love, he did.” Killian leans down to drop a kiss on the crown of her head.

 

“But you stopped him like the lady who hurt Henry’s daddy, right?” He wonders if she knows she is even doing it. Gods, the way Eliza is looking at him is breaking his heart – so full of hope, promise, and affirmation.

 

“I’m afraid not.”

 

“Well, when you see the bad man again, Daddy, I’m sure you will stop him.” Eliza says this confidently, as if there is little doubt in her mind that her father could avenge – or at the very least – stop Milah’s killer. She simply cannot comprehend that he could fail at saving someone. Gods, how he loves her. Gods, how it terrifies him to disappoint her.

 

“Your daddy and I won’t let that bad man hurt anyone else ever again,” Emma promises, and pokes out her pinky to show just how truly she means it. Eliza grins and they shake on it, her small finger intertwining with Emma’s. It’s a heartwarming scene, and Killian marvels are just how well Emma seems to understand their daughter.

 

She truly is a wonderful mother.

 

The pinky-promise seems to draw an end to the conversation, and they allow Eliza to finish her book before tucking her in with kisses and wishes of sweet dreams. Killian turns off the bedroom light, lingering to make sure her nightlight provides enough illumination to stave off the monsters she believes linger the dark recesses of her room. Emma retreats to the shower, but not before glancing back at him, concern etched on her lovely features. He waves her off, and attempts to settle down in bed, reaching to the nightstand for the latest book Belle gifted him. It’s some biography about some politician from centuries prior, but he finds himself unable to read more than a few pages, far too distracted by his earlier conversation with his daughter. The older she gets, the closer she becomes to learning the truth about him, and the thought chills him to the bone. She’s now starting to question him, and though her inquiries delve no further than the superficial surface, she’s asking things. About him. About the past.

 

He doesn’t know if he can take it.

 

He sighs, slamming the book shut. There will be no reading tonight. Instead, he ambles downstairs to the den in search of his oldest and truest form of comfort. He doesn’t bother flicking on a lamp as he moves toward the liquor cabinet, allowing moonlight and familiarity to serve as his guide. There’s a half-full bottle of liquor calling his name, and his fingers itch to take it in his grasp.

 

The rum burns as he swallows. His drinking habit has taken a hit over the years, him finding fewer and fewer reasons to need a desperate pull of it, but tonight is different. He sits there silently in the dark, ruminating over the bedtime conversation. He feels like a failure in more ways than one, centuries of guilt washing over him as he works to drain the bottle. He hears the sound of soft footfalls, and turns his head to see Emma approaching him, damp hair tied into a loose braid and wearing the violet ‘NYU Parent’ t-shirt that Henry had gifted her a year prior. She easily falls onto the couch beside him, curling herself into his side. He leans over to kiss the top of her head, inhaling the fragrant floral scent of her shampoo. He feels a wave of shame wash over him, but does his best to hide the emotion.

 

“You’re getting my shirt wet,” he murmurs in jest, tugging on her braid.

 

“Mmmmm…don’t care,” Emma responds, as she leans over to deftly grab the bottle of rum sitting on the coffee table. She takes a long pull before asking, “How’s the brooding?”

 

“What makes you think I’m brooding?” Killian asks, stealing back the rum from her possession. She fakes a pout as her drinks, and he throws a wink her way. He is beginning to feel the tension ebb away, the mix of alcohol and her presence dulling his senses.

 

“You’re a bit of an open book, love,” Emma says, doing her best to mimic his accent. It’s a terrible imitation, and he rolls his eyes in response. “But really, babe, you’re sitting in the dark –  _alone_  – drinking directly from the bottle. You’re acting pretty damn broody.”

 

 “Quite perceptive, you are.”

 

“Want to talk about it?”

 

He sighs and places the bottle back on the coffee table. He turns his body to face her, and lifts his left arm. “I have a hook in place of a hand.”

 

“Some would say you’re Captain Hook.” Emma runs her fingers over the curve of the metal, so very unafraid of the weapon.

 

“Aye, love.”

 

“And?”

 

“And the day I lost my hand was the day I lost a woman I loved. I vowed to avenge her murder, and kill the monster that so cruelly took her from me. I dedicated countless years to that cause, leaving behind a string of murders, lives stolen that had nothing to do with Milah’s demise. The man who did murder Milah walks the streets of this town a free man. He has a home, a wife, a child…” Killian pauses, to take a breath and to reign in his errant emotions. He longs to grab the bottle of rum beside him, but reaches for Emma’s hand instead. “And the worst of it all is that there is a little girl asleep upstairs who thinks me her hero.”

 

“You _are_ her hero.”

 

“Ah, but for how long?”

 

“Forever.” Emma says this with such confidence that he feels his heart swoop.

 

Killian doesn’t know what he did to deserve this wonderful woman, one that looks at him with such faith and assurance despite knowing his sins. But that’s the rub, isn’t it? Emma knows his sins, and Eliza does not. He does not intend to keep these things from her, and it terrifies him to the core to think of the moment when she does discover the truth of his past. He’s told her before he was once a bad man until her mother walked into his life and showed him the light, but she doesn’t really understand what his villainy entails. It’s one thing to be told that one’s father was villain, it is another to know of the blood he spilled and the long list of people he failed.

 

“She’s going to find out about everything eventually, Swan, and when she does—“

 

“And when she does, she’ll deal with it. You’re her father. Yeah, she may be disappointed and confused at first, but she’ll roll with it.” Emma’s voice is firm, her eyes blazing with a ferocious passion. She doesn’t like this self-doubt in him, and whenever it makes itself known, she fights to quash it just as fiercely as she does with whatever crisis Storybrooke finds itself embroiled in. “I forgave my parents, remember?”

 

“I’ve committed far more sins than just stealing a baby.”

 

Emma snorts at his assertion, a glint of humor reflecting in her green eyes. “Let’s take a moment to consider the fact that you think ‘just stealing a baby’ to be a minor offense among the people we consider family. Maybe we ought to re-evaluate our lives a bit.”

 

“Swan, I’m attempting to bare my soul, and here you are making jokes.”

 

“I’m not making jokes, Killian. I’m just pointing out that everyone, and I mean pretty much everyone, in Eliza’s life has flirted with or fully committed to darkness at least once in their lives. She will be able to move past it.” Killian’s expression remains dubious, so she continues. “If Henry can move past Regina being the literal Evil Queen and everything unholy Gold has inflicted upon pretty much everyone in this town, Eliza will have no problem doing the same with you.”

 

“Eliza has a very different temperament than Henry,” Killian rightly corrects his wife, thinking just how different the two siblings are from one another. While Henry always struck him as calm, introspective, and reserved, he considers Eliza the opposite – fiery, passionate, and reactive. Killian already knows that his daughter has inherited more from him than simply his coloring and fear of the dark. The thought is both thrilling and terrifying.

 

“True, and she’s going to be a hell of a teenager.” Emma sighs, an expression of slight panic crossing her face at the thought. “But I know my kids, Killian, and Eliza will be fine.”

 

“I hope you’re right.”

 

“I know I’m right.” Emma cups his chin, and strokes his cheek with her thumb. “She absolutely will not be able to stay upset at you for long. She adores you way too much. You’re too good of a dad.”

 

“You truly believe that.” He says this more of a statement, than a question. Killian knows that Emma believes in him. That doubt has long since ebbed from his mind. This is the woman who marched into the Underworld to save him, the woman who bore his child, and sleeps beside him every night. It’s staggering how much she loves and believes in him. Truly, it is his greatest gift. It’s accepting that the other great gift in his life – their daughter – won’t wish to walk away from him that’s the issue.

 

“You bet I do.” Emma says, lips quirking up into a mischievous grin. “Though don’t be surprised if she does try to use it against us in her more rebellious moments. You know, when we won’t let her use the car or when you inevitably threaten her date to prom.”

 

“You wound me, darling,” Killian says in mock offense, an indignant smile working his way across his face. Emma does have the most wonderful way of calming him, teasing words aside. “I’ll have you know that I’m not your father. I will trust our daughter’s dating choices!”

 

Emma clucks her tongue in disagreement. “I will remember this moment in about ten years when she misses her curfew for the first time, and you want to murder whichever boyfriend she has at the time.”

 

“That won’t happen. She won’t miss any curfews.” Killian grins as he says this, the lie obvious even to himself. Eliza is the daughter of a pirate and former felon. There’s no way in hell she won’t find herself in some sort of mischief. It runs in her blood. There’s no doubt in Killian’s mind that his daughter will be far more work than Henry.

 

Emma rolls her eyes, and moves to grab to bottle of rum. Killian makes a noise of protest, but she shakes her head. “If you think that, buddy, you were obviously hitting the bottle harder than I thought.”

 

“Well, if drinking is now off the table, there are other things I would prefer to be hitting hard.”

 

Emma shakes her head in amusement, but leans in to kiss him anyway, her lips soft and warm against his. When she breaks away, far too soon for his liking, she looks at him studiously. “Are you going to be okay?”

 

“Aye. ”

 

It’s not completely true, but close enough. He will be, at the very least. It’s only a matter of time. He doubts that he will ever be able to fully forgive himself for his past actions, but thinks maybe that’s okay. Maybe that will make him more of the man that both Emma and Eliza see.

 

That’s the man he wants to be.


End file.
